The Chance That Never Was
by NeedAUsernameWhyNotZoidberg
Summary: A look at what happened between Cato and Clove the night before the Games. A little bit of heartbreak, a little bit of love, and a lot of swearing. Rated T for language.


**Hey guys! Here's another little one-shot I wrote for tumblr! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing **

Clove could never quite recall what first drew her to Cato. Of course, there were the obvious things- his flashing blue orbs, devilish smirk, angelic blonde hair (something she's always envied on other girls), and his tall, muscular physique. But those things were just skin deep. Something she could find on the faces and bodies of lots of other guys in the Academy back home. So perhaps it was his wicked charms, or his I-don't-give-a-shit attitude that really caught her eye.

Or maybe it was something more.

Cato was dangerous. She knew it and he knew it. But the thing is, she was dangerous too. If he was fire then she was gasoline, and together they were always in danger of burning themselves. Throughout the years they often danced around the precipice of something that neither wanted to fall in to, for they knew that the only thing waiting at the bottom of that cliff was pain. A raging inferno that the two of them started themselves. If life has ever taught them anything, it was to never let themselves tumble over the edge of that chasm. It never ended well for anyone.

"I swear to God, Clove," Cato seethes, staring out over the expanse of the Capitol's horizon. "If Brutus spends another second staring at you over his booze I'm going to kill him."

"He wasn't staring at me, dumbass," Clove scoffs, leaning next to him against the railing.

"Yes he was," Cato insists, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulls her in closer and rests his hand on her hip. "He was fucking undressing you with his eyes, Clove."

Clove just smirks and slips her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "Do you really want to be talking about this on the last night before the Games?"

Cato ignores her, choosing instead to glare stonily at the city. Clove rolls her eyes and looks up at him, admiring the way the street lights reflect off his cerulean eyes. Although in this time of night, they look almost black.

"This is our last night together," she purrs, taking her hand out of his pocket and sliding it up to his hip. Her fingers push under the fabric of his clothes and she begins to trace small, slow circles into his skin. "Don't spend it angry, okay?" Standing on her toes, she begins to kiss up his neck and to his mouth, letting her tongue linger on all the spots she knows he likes. "Okay?" She repeats in a whisper, reaching his mouth. She presses her lips to his and finds them unresponsive. Her eyes open and she frowns at his expression. "Okay?!"

Cato blinks and then looks down at her as though noticing her for the first time. "Yeah, sure. Whatever," he says huffily, annoyance laced in his tone. He goes silent for a minute but then breaks it when he looks out at the city again. "I bet he does this to every girl he trains. Especially the one who was a tribute last year. You know... that girl with the blonde hair... always dressed like a whore... Lavender! That's her name!" he snaps his fingers at the memory and doesn't notice Clove's hateful glare. "Remember how many sponsors she got? That's the only reason she won. I'm sure her looks helped. She was like twice as hot as you are. I bet Brutus stared at her all the time."

"You're a fucking asshole!" Clove seethes, pushing him against the railing with all her might. "Get away from me!"

"Clove, what the fuck?" Cato shouts, regaining his balance. "What's your problem?"

"It's the last night before we enter the Hunger Games, and all you want to talk about is how hot Lavender Morrison is! Goddammit Cato! Aren't you even afraid at all?"

"Afraid?!" Cato repeats, "Of course I'm not afraid, Clove! Fear is a useless emotion."

"But we're going to die!" Clove screeches, stepping closer to him. "We can't both get out alive. I-I'm so afraid Cato... I'm going to lose you!" Tears form in her eyes but she wipes them away angrily, hating to show any weak emotions in from of him.

Cato frowns and suddenly grabs her by the arms, pulling her into his embrace. She buries her face in his chest while he engulfs her with his arms, and plants a soft kiss in her hair. "Don't be afraid," he murmurs, holding her close. "I have a plan."

"What plan?" She whispers, wrapping her arms around his middle. Her voice is muffled by his chest and she's surprised he can even hear it.

"The interviews are in an hour, right?" Cato says to her. "I think that if I tell everyone in my interview that I never plan on coming home, that I want to save you, they might just gain sympathy for us. You know what a bunch of saps these Capitol people are. If they see us together, they won't want to kill us. Young love and all that. We could do it, Clove," he insists, squeezing her tighter, "We could change the Games. Together we just might make it."

Clove swallows hard, leaning her head back to look at him. "That's crazy talk, Cato," she says softly, watching sadly as his face falls. "They won't allow two Victors for a million years. All that will do is make me look weak. The sponsors will think that I'm dependent on you."

Cato's features soften as he looks down at her. "I think we can make it work," he insists. "Just let me try."

Clove shakes her head at him. "This wasn't the plan, Cato!" she says roughly, suddenly pushing him away again. He lets her go and she begins to stalk back and forth across the balcony. "This was supposed to be your year! I'm only seventeen, I was supposed to wait until next year!"

"Nobody knew you were going to be reaped..." Cato starts, but she quiets him with a wave of her hand.

"It doesn't matter, Cato!" she tells him, tears in her voice. "Don't you see? If you hadn't volunteered we would never have been in this mess! Who cares if this is your last year, you never should have volunteered! Now we're stuck here, and we're going to lose each other!" She begins to cry in earnest, for once not caring about crying in front of him.

"I couldn't stand to see you up there..." Cato says slowly, watching her sadly. "Don't you understand? I couldn't stand it! I had to volunteer."

"Why?!" Clove cries, staring up at him through the haze of tears. "Why couldn't you just stay behind and leave me?! Why?!"

Cato stands as still as a statue, staring right back at her. He seems rooted to the spot, unable to say anything. Clove begins to sob. "S-see?" she chokes out. "Y-you don't even h-have an answer."

She presses her fists to her eyes, unable to stop the flow of tears. All of a sudden her hands are being gently pulled away from her, and she finds herself staring straight into deep blue eyes.

"But I do have an answer," Cato whispers, drawing her body close to his. "I love you."

And all of a sudden his lips are on hers, and she finds herself getting thrown off the precipice she's been dancing around for so long. Cato is dragging her down, but as he kisses her, she starts to wonder if maybe _she_ threw _him_.

"Cato-" she gasps, pulling her lips away, but he mutters a half-hearted "No," in her ear and drags her face back to his. She finds her fingers in his hair, playing with the straight blonde tendrils.

Suddenly it's as though his fire meets her gasoline and she's ablaze, torpedoing down to the bottom of the cliff with him. They hit the very bottom and she's surprised to find that she actually _likes_ it down there. There's no pain, as she expected, but only warmth. Warmth that she found a long time ago in his kisses and hugs, in every conversation they ever had.

"I love you too," Clove whispers to him, meeting his grin with her own as he pulls away from her.

Panting, Cato leans his forehead down to hers. "Please," he begs, staring into her eyes. "Let me go through with the plan. It's the only thing that will save us."

Clove feels her heart break into a million pieces as she shakes her head at him. There's no way she's going into that arena looking weak and needy. Years of hiding emotions in front of Cato has shown her just how vital the appearance of strength can be. She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead and watches as a single tear falls down his face. Placing a hand on his cheek she wipes the tear away, only to have more take it's place.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers to him, giving him a salty kiss. Their tears intermingle together, and her next words are so broken they barely make a sound as they escape from her lips.

"I just can't do it."


End file.
